


Reassurances

by Guanin



Series: Antipodal Shadows [14]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Drinking, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-07
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-03-06 12:27:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3134462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guanin/pseuds/Guanin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim goes out drinking with Harvey to clear his head, which leaves Oswald with a very drunk boyfriend to deal with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The next morning, Alvarez noticed that the crucial piece of evidence that would close his case had gone missing. The blame game started going around the precinct as he and his partner tried to relocate it and Jim braced himself to be questioned, found guilty, and put away, but Harvey was right. No one suspected him. Harvey watched him carefully that day, as if afraid that Jim would turn himself in. He had half a mind to do so when Alvarez loudly griped that his murderer was going to walk. But Jim couldn’t go to prison. Oswald needed him. He couldn’t fight against Falcone and Maroni on his own. Jim had that nightmare again last night, the one that branded in his mind why he was allowing his morality to be chipped away. 

Oswald’s head in a box delivered to his door. 

Mobsters kept their promises. Maroni might not kill Oswald while he still had use for him, but there was plenty of harm that he could still inflict on him. Break his ribs. His legs. Chop fingers off. Considering the possibilities for even a second made bile rise in Jim’s throat, his stomach heaving, the urge to throw up so much worse than when he’d misplaced the security tape. So he would keep his mouth shut and his head down.

“You want to go get a drink?” Jim asked Harvey once their shift was over, praying that he would say yes.

Alcohol wasn’t going to help a damn thing, but it would smother the train wreck that was his thought process for a bit, and he could really use the company. Oswald was staying home tonight. 

“Sure,” Harvey said, putting on his coat. “You’ve looked like you needed one since yesterday. Is your boy not coming over?” 

They started walking out toward the parking lot.

“No. His mom is complaining that she never sees him anymore.”

That was the reason that Oswald had given him, and it was true that he had been away three nights out of four this week, but Jim had gotten the feeling that Oswald had chosen to put a little space between them for a while. He had barely been able to convince Oswald to stay last night after he was such an asshole to him. The rest of their evening had been stilted and awkward, not at all like they usually were, Oswald’s hurt hanging between them, a miasma that Jim’s apologies failed to banish. 

“Does she know about you two?” Harvey asked.

“Nope. And we intend to keep it that way. She wouldn’t approve. She’s a little clingy.”

“One of those moms, huh?”

“Pretty much. I think she hates me.”

“You’re boning her precious, baby boy. She’s supposed to hate you.”

“You’re really crass sometimes, you know that?”

“Don’t bother complaining, ’cause I’m not gonna change.”

A beer did not help. Two didn’t, either, but at least they tasted good. It was his day off tomorrow, anyway, and being sober was not doing it for him right now. 

“Oswald and I had a fight,” Jim said halfway down his second pint. 

Shit. Had alcohol always loosened his tongue this much?

“There it is,” Harvey said, pointing at Jim. “Finally.”

“What?”

“We’ve been chatting about nothing for the past half hour, but there was clearly something you wanted to get off your chest. Took you long enough.”

“Fine. Yeah, I, uh… I want to talk about it.”

Jim leaned heavily on the table, rubbing the cool sides of his beer glass with his right hand, scratching at the surface with his thumbnail.

“It was a big fight, huh?”

“Yeah. I said some things I shouldn’t have.”

“So it was your fault? I figured he would be the one who fucked up.”

“Why? Because he’s the criminal?”

“Don’t pretend like that doesn’t piss you off. I know better.”

“Yeah. You’re right. It does piss me off. It pisses me off that I’m the one who has to compromise instead of him when I’m the one who actually does the right thing. But he never asked me to. Never of his own volition. It’s not his fault.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yes. He doesn’t want to change me. I know that. He loves me the way I am. Because of what I am. It’s crazy, but it’s true. But all this that’s happening… It’s his world. His job. All the fucked up things I wish he would change.”

“Men like him don’t change.”

“I know. And I can’t ask him to. I can’t disrespect him like that. He respects what I do. I need to… Shit, I can’t respect what he does. Of course not. But I need to live with it.”

“Jim, I know that I said that I would back off about you being with him, but I’m not sure that you can live with that.”

Jim met Harvey’s eyes, recognizing the truth that he spoke.

“I know. But I need to try. I won’t give up on him that easily.”

Jim downed the last of his pint and stared at the dregs in his empty glass, feeling as stretched and thin as those lonely drops.

“You want another one?” he asked, getting up.

Harvey regarded him speculatively for a second, then nodded.

“Sure. Why not?”

```````````````  
“Oswald, where have you been sleeping all this week?”

“Why do you never eat with your mother anymore?”

“Have you been seeing that policeman? Is he the one keeping you away? You cannot trust them. Policemen, they fool you.”

“Why are you upset, dear? Is it the policeman? Is he being mean to you?”

The questioning had been nonstop since Oswald got home that day. All through dinner and even now as they cleaned the plates his mother had been badgering him incessantly. He wanted to rip his own hair out. 

“No, mother,” he said, scrubbing a plate so hard that the polish was probably coming off. “Jim is not being mean to me. And he is trustworthy. He’s probably the most trustworthy man in this city.”

“No men in this city are trustworthy.”

“Now that is simply not possible. Statically speaking, there has to be at least one, and he is that one. Could you at least trust my judgment, please?”

“How are you sure he’s not taking advantage of you? It happens to even the smartest, you know.”

“Mother.” Oswald practically slammed a cup into the draining tray. “If Jim was taking advantage of me, I would know. Which he is not. He would never do that.”

His phone started ringing.

“I’ve got to get that,” he said, drying his hands with a washcloth as he went to pick up his phone from the dining table.

“It is that policeman?”

Yes, it was.

“No, mother. I’m taking this call outside.”

“If it’s not him, why are you going outside?”

“Because you eavesdrop. Don’t deny it. I know you do.”

His mom scowled at him, but he ignored her, answering the phone.

“Hi,” he said. “Give me a second.”

He waited until he was out of the apartment and at the staircase to speak into the phone again.

“Hello.”

“I love you,” Jim said, his speech slurred. “I’m so sorry about yesterday. Really, really love you. Sorry. Love you and sorry.” 

He burst out laughing. Oswald smiled at the love declaration. It warmed him up inside every time he heard it. 

“Are you drunk dialing me?” Oswald asked, as if he needed to. The answer was obviously “yes.”

“Yes,” Jim said, still chuckling. “I’m sorry, babe. I love everything about you. Not your job. I hate your job. Sorry. Didn’t mean to say that. You’re not your job, except you kinda are. I’m my job. Barbara didn’t like that. Shit. Didn’t mean to say that, either. I love the you that’s not your job. Fuck, that still sounds wrong.”

Oswald’s initial amusement at Jim’s drunkenness diminished with every word he spoke, leaving him feeling awkward and discomfited.

“Jim, I know you hate my job. It’s you. Of course you do. But I think it’s better that we discuss this when you’re sober.”

“But I love you.”

Oswald smiled sadly.

“Hang on,” Jim said. “Harvey is being annoying. Oh, he says I’m the annoying one. Can you pick me up? Harvey is going to kill me soon. He’s grabbing the phone.”

Jim’s voice faded and Bullock came on the line. Brilliant. Oswald’s entire evening had been crap and now he had to listen to Bullock on top of that.

“Hey, Cobblepot,” Bullock said. “I’m going to need you to pick up your boyfriend here. I’d offer him my couch for the night, but he’s been talking my ear off about you for the last hour and a half and if I have to listen to him call you pretty one more time, I might smother him with a pillow, so for everyone’s sake, come get him. Now.”

“He threatened to knock me out,” Jim said, “when I mentioned your delicious cooking.”

“That’s not what you said was delicious,” Bullock said, sounding traumatized.

Oh God.

“I’ll be right there,” Oswald said. 

As soon as Bullock gave him the address, Oswald rushed back to the apartment to grab his car keys and his coat. Like he suspected, his mom was waiting for him right in front of the door, looking none too happy.

“Mom,” he said, sidestepping her to get his keys from the table by the door. “I have to go.”

“It’s him, isn’t it? You’re going to see him.”

“No, I’m not. It’s work.”

“You promise?”

“Yes, I promise.”

She didn’t believe him, given her scowl. She never believed anything he said about Jim, which was why he was forced to lie in the first place. There was another pot that was bound to boil over eventually, but as long as she wasn’t willing to say what she suspected out loud, he didn’t have to deal with it.

He did, however, have to manage a very enthusiastic Jim when he arrived at the bar. Jim and Harvey were sitting in a booth halfway inside, Jim facing the door, grinning like a madman as he ate some fries.. As soon as he saw Oswald, he jumped up from the table, ran toward Oswald, and gave him a very salty kiss. Oswald tasted the fries in his mouth, which made him try to draw back, but Jim was clinging to him, arms wrapped tightly around him, deepening the kiss.

“Thank God you’re here,” Bullock said from somewhere over Jim’s shoulder. “Take him away. I’m begging you.”

Oswald finally managed to detach Jim from his face. He held Jim back, hands firm on Jim’s shoulders.

“Jim,” he said, meeting Jim’s affectionate eyes. “I’m taking you home.”

“I love you,” Jim said.

He looked so beautiful saying that. Oswald smiled, the knot that had been twisted in his stomach the entire drive loosening a bit, and grabbed Jim’s hands before they could slide any further down his back. 

“I love you, too.”

“Wonderful,” Bullock said. He started to push Jim, and, consequently, Oswald, toward the door. “Now get out of here, you crazy lovebirds, before I decide to charge both of you for the weeks of therapy that I’ll need after this.”

“Jim?” Oswald asked. “What exactly did you say?”

“I just complimented you.”

“I made the huge mistake,” Bullock said, “of asking him what the hell he likes about you. Now I want to bleach my brain. I did not need to know that you’re good with your mouth.”

What?! 

Bullock shoved them out the door, staying inside.

“You told him what?” Oswald asked, gaping at Jim in horror. 

“I didn’t tell him anything,” Jim said quickly, looking scared. “I just mentioned that I like your mouth. There were no details. Please forgive me.”

Jim snuggled up to him. Oswald took a step back before Jim started kissing him again. He wasn’t getting stuck in a make out session in the middle of the street. 

“I forgive you. Let’s go.”

Jim kept touching him the entire time in the car. His hand strayed along Oswald’s leg, up his arm, across his shoulders, and on his neck. Oswald tried swatting the pesky hand away, protesting that Jim was distracting him, and Jim would desist for a bit, but just a few minutes later, there his hand was again, teasing over Oswald’s clothes and skin, making him want to either shout at him to stop or pull over and fuck Jim right there in the car. He chose neither. Jim’s wandering hands became impossible to avoid once Oswald parked and they left the car. He glued himself to Oswald’s side the entire way up the elevator and down the hall, raining kisses all over Oswald’s face. Oswald appreciated the attention, he really did. It was reassuring to feel Jim lavish him with such affection after the words spoken between them, but Jim was drunk and what he said on the phone still stung, unintentional though it had been. He let Jim kiss him, but that was all. 

“Time for bed,” Oswald said once they entered the apartment.

Jim felt like an eel attached to his back, spooning him so closely that Oswald felt like he was walking for both of them. Oswald detached Jim’s hands from his waist, leading him to the bathroom by the hand. Jim tried to hug Oswald again, but Oswald scurried forward to avoid him, frowning at him.

“Jim. Stop that.”

Jim quit chasing him, lowering his head with a sheepish expression. 

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to be obnoxious.”

“Go to the bathroom, then get ready for bed, okay?”

“Okay.”

But Jim didn’t move, just stared at Oswald with oddly intense concentration. 

‘Can I kiss you again?” he asked.

God, this man would be the death of him.

“Yes, you can kiss me. But just a kiss.”

This time the kiss was slow and tender, as if Jim wished to savor every sensation that Oswald’s mouth offered to the utmost. Oswald began to fold, growing aroused, but no. Jim was still drunk. Not a great idea. After a little while, Oswald gently pushed him back.

“Bed,” he said, brooking no argument this time.

“Yes, sir.” 

Five minutes later, Jim collapsed on the mattress. Technically, Oswald could go back home at this point, but he knew that his mother would get out of bed to bombard him with questions the instant that she heard the front door open, light sleeper that she was, so that wasn’t happening. He decided to take a shower to give Jim some time to fall asleep. He needed one, anyway. Thankfully, Jim was sleeping by the time that Oswald returned to the bedroom. And he was hogging Oswald’s favorite fleece blanket. Perfect. Grabbing the spare one, Oswald got into bed with him, laying on his back to stretch out his right leg. He listened to Jim breathe. Steady, even breaths. Hopefully, he would sleep through the night. A big hangover was waiting for him in the morning. As would Oswald with painkillers and lots of glasses of water to nurse him back to health. The thought made him smile. Rolling onto his right side, he drifted off to sleep. 

Oswald awoke to Jim touching his back. He blinked his eyes open, frowning at the darkness that met him. The digital clock sat on the table behind him, but dawn was clearly still far away. He could turn over to look, but Jim’s face rubbed down his spine, his hands skimming along his waist, dissuading him from doing so.

“You awake?” Jim asked, sounding much too alert for the hour.

“You woke me,” Oswald mumbled. 

“Sorry.”

Jim’s right hand slipped just inside the waistline of Oswald’s pajama pants on his right hip.

“Do you want me to stop?” Jim asked.

Shutting his eyes, Oswald focused on the feel of Jim’s fingers idly stroking his skin. Tender lips pressed a kiss on the small of his back, simultaneously a silent apology and plea for further affectionate touches.

Oh, what the hell. It was late and it wasn’t like he didn’t want to. What harm could it do?

“No,” Oswald said. “You may continue.”

Pushing Oswald’s pants down, Jim kissed his hip, chuckling lightly.

“Thank you for your permission,” he said. 

Sitting up, Oswald took off his shirt as Jim removed his pants as well as his own. As soon as they were both naked, Jim nudged him back down.

“Can you lie down on your front?” Jim asked.

“Okay.”

Oswald did so, urged by Jim’s restless hands gripping his sides and spreading his legs to climb between them. Jim kissed Oswald’s lower back, licking all the way down his spine, the cool wetness of his tongue inducing shivers in Oswald’s skin. Oswald’s breath grew shallower. He expected Jim to reach for the lubricant to start preparing him, but Jim didn’t move from his position. Instead, he nuzzled Oswald’s hips, skimming over one buttock while massaging the other, stroking Oswald’s inner thighs, fingers teasing along Oswald’s perineum. Oswald clutched the pillow, panting, his head to the side. Jim’s lips skimmed lower, lower… Wait. Was he going to… Jim was pulling his thighs wider apart, spreading his cheeks. 

Oh God, his tongue was inside him. Oswald moaned loudly. Jim was licking his hole, tongue leisurely dipping in and out, covering every inch of him, and Oswald couldn’t stop keening, his hips bucking as Jim rubbed his balls, grabbing Oswald’s erection, stroking all of him with both hands and tongue. Oswald was chanting Jim’s name now, his toes curling into the mattress, forehead pressed into the pillow, breathing hard, dizzy as Jim short circuited his brain. Jim was delivering tiny kisses along with his licks, teasing him with soft exhales of warm air on his moistened flesh. Oswald couldn’t last long, and he came hard into Jim’s hand, his whole body shaking. As he lied there, spent, Jim crawled up his body and murmured in his ear, “Can I?” while pressing his erection to Oswald’s hip.

Oswald nodded frantically.

“Yes,” he said. “Absolutely yes.”

Jim took him hard and fast, ridding him until Oswald had no breath left and every cell in his body was drowning in the most delicious ecstasy. Halfway through, Jim readjusted his angle, hitting Oswald’s prostrate straight on while stroking him, and Oswald came again, moaning. He grabbed Jim’s right hand, their fingers latching together, pure happiness spreading through his body as Jim finished inside him. Jim sank beside him, breathing hard. Oswald hugged him close, laying his head on Jim’s shoulder, enjoying the rapid beating of his heart under his cheek. 

Some hours later, Oswald awoke to the unwelcome sound of Jim retching in the bathroom. Ah. The hangover had arrived. He stretched, every muscle in his body delightfully pliant and at peace with the world. Even his right thigh declined from hurting much this morning. Despite the auditory reminders of Jim’s misery, he couldn’t help his smile. 

“Are you okay?” he called out.

A few seconds later, Jim replied.

“Yeah.”

The utter wretchedness in his tone indicated otherwise. As wonderful as it would be to lie here indefinitely and enjoy the pleasure of a warm bed, his boyfriend needed him, so Oswald got up and pulled on his pajama pants. Getting a glass of water from the kitchen, he went to the bathroom. Jim was hunched cross-legged on the floor next to the toilet, hands pressed over his face, blocking out the light.

“Are you done throwing up?” Oswald asked, petting his head gently.

“I think so.”

Jim wrapped his arms around Oswald’s legs, burying his face between his thighs.

“God, I feel like shit,” he said, sounding so piteous.

Oswald massaged his skull with the tips of his fingers.

“Does that help?” Oswald asked. “I brought some water for you to take a painkiller.”

“Yeah. Thanks. Do me a favor, will you? Don’t let me drink again.”

“I didn’t let you drink this time.”

“Forbid me from drinking.”

“What?”

“As my boyfriend, forbid me from drinking. I’d forgotten how horrible hangovers are. Please, I’m begging you. I might just do it again otherwise.”

“I will do no such thing. It’s a completely unfair thing for me to ask. Just exercise some restraint next time.”

Jim whined.

“Why did you drink so much, anyway?” Oswald asked. “I’ve never known you to get drunk.”

Jim didn’t answer for a while. Oswald peered down at him, his hands stilling on Jim’s head.

“Jim?” he asked, starting to worry.

Their fight. It had to have been their fight. Jim had been so desperate to reassure Oswald of his love last night. And the Coleman case was all twisted up in that, too.

“Never mind,” he said, regretting having spoken. Damn his sleep and sex addled brain. “Forget I asked.”

“They found out that the security tape from the Coleman case is missing,” Jim said.

Oswald dropped his head back, eyes squeezing shut. Fuck.

“You don’t have to tell me.”

“I took the security tape and placed it in a closed case’s evidence box. I’m a criminal. I’m the same as all the rest. Corrupt.”

“You’re not like them.” 

Lowering his hands to the sides of Jim’s head, Oswald coaxed him to look up, meeting his eyes. The dismay he saw in them made him want to stab Maroni in the face.

“You,” Oswald said, “did what you did to spare me from getting hurt. You acted with the most honorable of intentions. You are not corrupt, Jim. You are a good man. The other cops’ criminality is born out of greed and convenience. They are selfish. You are not. You could never be so base as them.” 

Jim contemplated him for a bit, then lowered his head, his hands sliding down to Oswald’s calves. He looked up again, his expression decidedly less miserable.

“Thank you,” he said. “That helps.”

“I’m glad. Please remember what I said. You are not like the rest.”

Jim nodded.

“I will.”


	2. Deleted scene: Jim sings Oswald's praises at the bar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was never a proper scene in the story, but I wanted to expand a little bit on what Jim told Harvey about Oswald.

Harvey, never having experienced a drunk Jim before, might be excused from being stupid enough to wait until Jim had drank three beers, a hard cider, and two shots of rum to assuage his curiosity as to why the hell Jim liked Cobblepot in the first place. His curiosity quickly decided that ignorance was most certainly bliss.

“He’s so pretty,” Jim said, resting his head on his hand like a love addled teenager. “He’s just so pretty. That hair and those eyes. And the cheekbones. You’ve seen the cheekbones.”

“Yes. Cobblepot has cheekbones.”

“And he’s so nice and helpful.”

“Cobblepot is nice and helpful? That’s a new one for me.”

“He is to me.”

“Yeah. You’re a special case. I get that.”

“He’s such great company. He’s so smart. I love his brain. And his mouth. God, what he does with his mouth.”

“Whoa! No details, please. I’m begging you.”

“Sorry. Yeah. I shouldn’t have said that. He’s great, though.”

That grin was putting so much disturbing imagery in Harvey’s brain. Oh, God, he needed brain bleach. 

“And his eyes,” Jim continued. “Have I mentioned his eyes?”

“Not even a minute ago. You know, I have a good idea now. You don’t need to continue—“

“And he’s such a fine dresser. I feel like a slob next to him.”

Harvey buried his head in his hands. Ah, fuck.


End file.
